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[ingeniar]

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USERNAME: STARK

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[rehandle]

Not a lot.

[ Tony tightens, gathers into himself in small subtle shifts, and Stephen grinds his teeth on an anger that has nowhere to go for the moment. ]

He wanted to know what you want to happen now.

[ingeniar]

What I want to happen?

[ That gets some earnest confusion. Tony frowns at Stephen, then at the landscape of the grounds. ]

I'm supposed to want something to happen?

[rehandle]

No.

[ No. He's not supposed to do anything. It may not be fair to resent Barnes putting the onus of choice on Tony when it is, most likely, the kindest thing to do - but that doesn't stop cold venom from seeping in under his words. ]

If you want him to stay away, he will.

[ingeniar]

[ The coffee doesn't help the increasingly sour feeling in Tony's stomach, but at least it's warm. He keeps his gaze fixed on the treeline, grateful for Stephen's clear disgust over Bucky's overtures, but unable to focus on it for very long. This is a wound that's never really healed, recently uncovered and pressed too hard. ]

I want -- [ He stops, frowns, starts again. ] I wanted my mom to be able to meet Morgan. I wanted my dad to dance with Pepper at our wedding. Can he give me that?

[ He looks over at Stephen again, eyes sharp and intense with old anger -- not for him, but for the world that was unfair enough to rob him of the only future he ever really wanted. ]

[rehandle]

[ Tony's anger takes the wind out of the sails of his own. Tightness in the muscles around his mouth, a frown pinching his brow, he works hard not to look away. Shakes his head, a small, tight move.

There are a few things he could say now. All of them true, all of them destined to stick another knife in Barnes' side, further justify the anger diamond-sharp in Tony's eyes. But every single one will do exactly what Barnes offering him a pound of flesh would - or drive him closer to accepting it.

More blood won't help make things anything other than worse. ]

No. [ No. ] Do you want to tell him that yourself?

[ingeniar]

[ That anger drains off almost as quickly as it came on, leaving a familiar weariness behind, the dry river bed of grief. Tony lets out a breath and comes to a slow stop, pulling his hand out of his pocket to rub the heel of his thumb his brow like he's trying to chase off an incoming headache. ]

No. No point going back there. We already hashed it out. I didn't like how it ended.

[ Beat up with his arc reactor cracked, on the verge of a coronary event, in the middle of nowhere in Siberia. It had taken hours for S.H.I.E.L.D. to get a medevac team out there; he'd spent most of that time waiting to die and half hoping he would, the betrayal hurting almost as bad as the broken ribs. The limping flight home had felt one of the longest of his life.

But it's old news. He'd ended up on Titan and Bucky had been whisked away by the Blip and he'd tried not to feel glad about it. ]

You can tell him we're done. I want him to stay out of my way. He's about thirty years too late for forgiveness.

[rehandle]

[ A nod of his head, regretting having asked, glad at least to have spared him whatever might have followed had Barnes done this himself. He's at a loss, for a moment, for what to do. How to move on from dredging up the barely settled waters of the worst time of Tony's young life. Perhaps his whole life, though the rest of it hasn't exactly been exclusively kind.

But there are only so many seconds he can stand and stare at him for. So. ]

I'll tell him.

[ Later. When they're done walking through the cold garden. Once he's taken what edge he can off of the conversation he's started.

He can begin with taking the edge off of the sting of the open air, reaching out after a blink of decision to lightly touch Tony's arm. The spell primed silently a minute or two ago finds purchase: Tony's body becomes the lines for an inch or two of warmth to colour outside of, an invisble room temperature barrier against the cold settling through and over clothes, butting up against skin.

Light touch turns to a squeeze. He is, he's forced to acknowledge, still bad at this. Bedside manner never trained, capacity for care rarely finding a home until recently. He lets him go, and the spell remains intact. ]

Sorry to bring it up. I figured better me than him.

[ingeniar]

[ The warmth helps, even if it's just on an animal level, basic processes easing as his body relaxes a few degrees. A tension he hadn't realised he was holding onto leaking away. When Stephen squeezes his arm, Tony glances down and away, letting go of a sigh. He nods a bit, agreeing with the unsaid. Yes, okay, he needed this. The spell. The contact. The whole deal. ]

No, it's -- [ He looks back at Stephen, frowning faintly. ] We should have talked about this. Weeks ago. When I first found out he was here, we should have -- I guess I hoped we could avoid each other. Stupid, really.

[ Another glance away, and back. A touch more focused this time, more complex. ]

There's a lot we need to talk about. Should probably talk about.